


All that is Gold does not Glitter

by brokenpromisesandhope



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Boners, Depression, Drug Use, Happy Ending, I normally hate svetlana but she's actually nice, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Recovery, Regression, daddy! mickey, fucked up time line, ian doesn't talk, non graphic sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:50:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1812490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenpromisesandhope/pseuds/brokenpromisesandhope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's winter and Ian wants to kill himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All that is Gold does not Glitter

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so so proud of this and it's sad, but ends well.  
> Please comment/Kudos because I've been on a role lately!  
> Warnings at the bottom!  
> **minor spelling editing   
> Xx  
> T

It's winter and Ian wants to kill himself. It's cold outside and it's cold inside and his bones creak when he tries to breathe.

He chain smokes cigarettes and he's drunk all the fucking time but it still hurts inside of him.

He doesn't talk about it and neither does Mickey and it just makes It worse.

He realizes it goes too far when he fucks Mickey too hard. It's funny because there never used to be such a thing as too hard, but Mickey's hips are badly bruised and he limps for two days, even though that rarely happens anymore.

The next time they fuck Mickey's letting out these occasional little whimpers and it's not until Ian reaches around to jerk him off that he realizes Mickey is only half hard. He tries to choke something out but his voice has shriveled inside of him and his throat  
is so dry he can barely swallow the lump. His hips have slowed of course, and that's about all he has the power to do,  
"Just keep going." Mickey spits out.  
I can't. Ian wants to say. I'm sorry. Please.  
It takes him a long time to come.

Ian kisses him the next day, when Mickey hands him a cherry pop tart. They make out for a little bit, but Mickey pushes Ian away when be tries to straddle him. He raises an eyebrow, confused because that's what he thought Mickey wanted.  
"Not today alright." Mickey grunts.

Ian's heart crumbles when Mickey stays on the couch like he can't trust Ian not to touch him.

It's winter, it's freezing outside and Ian can't breathe.

It's starting to get warmer but Ian's veins won't thaw. The ice in his lungs cracks every time he breathes and the pain radiates across his chest.

He goes to the club, gets high, let's anyone who wants touch him. He always thinks the grimy fingers will keep him on earth, but when he's flying the fingertips feel like ghosts.

Mickey tries. He tries so fucking hard but Ian's always been the talker and Mickey doesn't know how to let words fall from his lips so sugary sweet like Ian does.

His family doesn't care that's it. They don't ask about him, he hasn't heard from them in over a month. It's just Mickey. That's all he has and Mickey is one step away from leaving he knows it. He can see it in the way Mickey grits his teeth when Ian doesn't respond to anything. When Ian crumbles his pop tart and leaves all the crumbs on the table instead of eating them, three days in a row.

"Fucking say something Gallagher! Please! It's been days and I just," Mickey is shouting and his voice is hard but his blue eyes are swimming in tears, and Ian thinks they look like the ocean.

He blinks and blinks until Mickey fades away.

It's getting cold out again and Mickey doesn't even talk to him anymore. He's fucking useless and he's holding him back and he hates himself so fucking much. He wishes he could jump out of bed. Jump off the roof. Jump in front of the L. But to lift his head is too much effort most days.

His family shows up and it's kind of funny. It's funny because Mickey had called and begged, his voice which has never been soft, fucking cracking over and over as he asks for help.  
"I can't do it on my own. I don't know what's wrong and he won't fucking talk to me. Hasn't talked in so fucking long."

Fiona makes all the doctors appointments, she sits on the edge of Mickey's bed and stokes his leg, while talking in a soft voice. It doesn't ground him, in fact it annoys the shit out of him but he doesn't know how to speak. His voice is long gone and he wonders if it will ever come back.

Ian broke Mickey Milkovich. Mickey is no longer harsh words and guns and beating people up. He is bright highlighted calenders. Two, one in their room and one in the kitchen. He is a father. He bathes Yevgeny and then Ian. He sets food in front of Ian, then  
feeds Yev. When Yev is down for his nap, but Ian has yet to touch his food, he feeds Ian.

Ian eats less than the kid.

Once Ian is fed, as much as he's going to eat anyway, Mickey usually treats himself to a once a day cigarette out the window while Ian stares unblinking at the TV.  
Mickey will dress the baby, stuff him in the car seat before adding extra blankets so he's warm enough before he dresses Ian. He pulls a hat over his red hair, and wraps a scarf around his neck.  
"Perfect." He kisses Ian's nose.  
He dresses himself for the weather, then hustles them all out of the door. He carries the heavy baby carrier In one arm, holding Ian's hand tightly in the other, dragging him along.

Ian doesn't know when he became more work than the baby.

Finally getting a diagnosis is a relief.

At the doctors request, Mickey solidified their schedule. He woke Ian at seven-thirty every morning, sat him at the table with a plate of actual food, watched as Ian swallowed his pills by eight and checked under his tongue. He holds orange juice with a straw up to Ian's mouth so he can sip through the shakes.  
Sometimes their morning activities differ, but Ian and Yev are always sat at the table at noon for lunch.

The baby makes more noise than Ian.

They start getting ready for bed at seven. Yev gets a bath, then laid down with a bottle, and then Ian. At eight Mickey brings Ian his pills in bed, holds him through the shakes and kisses his head before tucking him into bed.

Svetlana gets home around nine and Mandy leaves around then for her second shift. If you would have told him two years ago, that he would be a stay at home dad, taking care of his ten month old son and boyfriend, he would beat the shit out of you. Yet here he is.

Ian's meds help. His veins start to unthaw, slowly but surely. He still can't talk, but he communicates more than he did. Mickey slowly gives him more independence, let's him cut his own French Toast, pick an actual channel he'd like to watch on the TV.

Ian doesn't think he's seen Mickey smile so wide as when Mickey starts running the bath water and he shakes his head, pointing to the shower.  
"You, you want a shower?"  
Ian nods.  
"Um, I don't want you to fall or anything. Can I," He rubs the back of his neck. "Can I get in with you?"  
Ian shakes his head quickly and Mickey purses his lips.  
"Alright well I'm gonna sit out here okay? I won't, look or anything-"  
Ian nods, that's fine.  
Mickey leaves the room for a moment, to let Ian get undressed, a small smile on his face.

His Ian is coming back.

It takes a couple weeks for Ian to be able to shower alone. Mickey is still nervous, but Ian hadn't locked the door and he could still go in and check on him if he'd like. Ian still hadn't spoken, but the fact he was showering on his own and washing his own hair made Mickey extremely happy.

It's a random day in the shower, the only time Ian's really alone when it happens. Ian hasn't had any sex drive in a long time, so when he pops a boner, he really doesn't know what to do. He turns off the shower abruptly and turns the bath water on full blast, his signal that he needs Mickey, because his lungs are still flooded.  
Mickey rushes into the bathroom shirtless, eyes frantic.  
"What what?!"  
Ian's eyes widen, because he hasn't seen Mickey shirtless in so so long, and he's nearly forgot about his name printed in elegant script right under Mickey's collarbone. He'd gotten it before Ian was sick, when he was normal, thought Ian was worth it. At least that's what Ian thinks.  
Ian can't even remember what he calls Mickey for because he's panicking over the tattoo.  
He waves his hand frantically at Mickey's bare chest, and Mickey looks down, before pulling on the shirt in his hands.  
"Sorry sorry. What's wrong?!" He asks again, once his shirt is on. Ian opens the curtain slightly, looking down at his even harder dick.  
Mickey's eyes follow Ian's and his mouth drops open in shock,  
"Oh. Um," He runs a hand through his ungelled hair, "Fuck." He sucks in a breath, wishing he had a cigarette. "You want it to go away?"  
Ian nods, biting his lip.  
"Fuck." Mickey curses again. He leans forward and Ian stills. He wants Mickey to touch him, to kiss him, to tell him he loves him. Mickey doesn't do any of these things. He takes Ian's washcloth and runs it under cold streaming water.  
"Fuck." He curses, as he wraps the ice cold washcloth around Ian's erection. Ian makes little noises as he softens, and when Mickey pulls away, Ian's face is flaming.  
"Hey, it's okay baby." Mickey kisses his head. "Don't be embarrassed."  
Ian nods, even though his eyes are filling with tears because Mickey doesn't want him anymore.  
"Hey, hey," Mickey coos, forcing Ian to look at him, "Everyone gets them alright? And not everyone can handle them on their own. It's okay alright?"  
Ian shakes his head, because that's not it and Mickey doesn't understand him.  
"What? Talk to me Ian, please." Mickey begs.  
Ian takes a deep breath and shakes his head. Mickey sighs and kisses Ian's head again, before he leaves the room.

Ian needs to learn how to talk again, tortured lungs be dammed.

Mickey panics when be wakes up to crying. Yev's slept through the night for months, and he jumps up, realizing he'd fallen asleep on his couch, running into the bedroom. Flicking on the light, he says Yev is still fast asleep in his crib, but it's Ian who's sitting up, sobbing, chest heaving, face tear stained.  
"Ian, Ian what's wrong?" Mickey asks frantically, sliding onto the bed next to Him.

Ian shakes his head and makes grabby hands towards Mickey. He sighs and pulls Ian to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around him, rocking him back and forth.  
"It's okay, you're okay now." He mumbles over and over.  
Eventually Svetlana wanders in, arms crossed over her chest,  
"Are you quite done?"  
Ian's not sure who he hates more, her or himself.

Ian absolutely adores Yev. He's always loved babies and it's hard not to be close when they have practically the same schedule. Mickey always let's him hold the baby, as long as he's in close proximity. And if Mickey doesn't offer, but Ian wants to, he makes grabby hands and Mickey plops the baby in his lap smiling.  
It's a rare day where Mickey has to go into the bar to fill out paperwork with Kev. Ian can't be trusted by himself let alone with the baby so Svetlana stayed home. Ian knows she hates him and he's not particularly fond of her either.  
He feels bad for her when Yev is crying after lunch. He's still at the table, trying to choke down his peanut butter and jelly sandwich but it seems like so much more when it's cut into two triangles, not four. He can hear Yevgeny screaming, and his curiosity gets the better of him, and he wonders into the living room.  
"Hey!" Svetlana barks. "You're not supposed to get up until you've finished your food. Go sit down." Ian feels strangely reprimanded even though he's a grown man.  
He ignores her and makes grabby hands for the baby. He's sure that Yev just needs some bouncing and hugs, But it seems Svetlana is incapable of that because he's still screaming his head off.  
Ian makes grabby hands at her and she raises her eyebrows.  
"What?"  
Ian makes grabby hands again.  
"I'm not your pussy whipped boyfriend. You want something, you say."  
Ian frowns because Yev is staring at him, still screaming. He tries again, reaching his hands out. Why doesn't she understand?  
"You want something, you speak orange boy."

She expects him to drop it, go back to his sandwich and leave it alone. She hadn't heard him talk in so long she almost misses the grating sound of his voice, almost.

Ian's lungs are charred from all the cigarettes he smoked, trying to burn himself from the inside out.

"Baby." His voice is cracked, so fucking quiet and raw. The one, half whispered word, sends him into a coughing fit. Once he's done coughing, eyes watering, Svetlana gets up and plops the baby into his arms.

He stares at her, eyes wide as he rocks the baby gently. She shakes her head, walking away, trying to hide her shock.

It's not until later, when she's watching Ian bounce Yev on his lap, tickling the baby over and over, that she realizes why Mickey might love Ian. She stares out the window, lighting up a cigarette. She stares outside at the setting sun, the two only catching her attention when Yev let's out a screaming laughing, clutching onto Ian's shirt, blue eyes wide.  
She thinks she might love him too.

 

"You need to talk to him orange boy."  
"Baby." Ian croaks making grabby hands.  
Svetlana sighs and hands Ian the baby, going to make dinner.

That night, when Mickey helps him into the shower, Ian makes sure the pounding water is as high as it can go so no one can hear his cracking voice as he whispers  
"Mickey."  
He goes into a coughing fit after, his throat is so dry, voice so unused that the syllables crack uncomfortably.

He wonders if he will ever be able to talk without feeling like he's shredding his insides.

He practices like crazy. He spends every shower muttering Mickey's name like like a prayer.

He wonders if his voice will ever be the  
Same.

He thinks not.

Time passes and he becomes even more independent, he just doesn't speak.

Mickey wonders if Ian will ever speak again.

"He'll speak when he's ready." All of his doctors say.  
Mickey wants to deck every single one of them.

It's a Tuesday. At least Ian's pretty sure it's a Tuesday, the days seem to blend together at this point. He's laying with Yev on the carpet, playing with blocks. After awhile Yev gets bored and starts squirming, before he stands up, two blocks in his hands.  
"Dada!" He chants.  
Mickey's in the shower, Ian can still hear him, and he looks in the direction of the bathroom.  
When he looks back at Yev, the baby is toddling, slippered feet shuffling. Holy fuck. He's walking, he's actually walking! He's smiling so wide, he can feel his cheeks hurting.  
He doesnt even have to think about it.  
"MICKEY!" He screams with all his might. He fights back the coughs and does it again, "MICKEY!" Yev paused mid step and topples over, staring at Ian.  
Mickey rushes out of the bathroom, slipping on the wood floor, towel hastily wrapped around his waist,  
"What? What?!"  
"Dada!" Yev cries, standing up again and toddling over to Mickey.  
"What the fuck?" Svetlana asks, walking out of her room as she pulls on her shirt. She halts when she sees Yevgeny stumbling towards Mickey  
And screams.  
"My baby!!!!"

Everyone's screaming and Svetlana's crying and she's actually hugging Ian and Mickey's kissing Yevgeny's head when he freezes.  
"You talked."  
Ian nods happily.  
"You said my name."  
Ian nods.  
"Fuck you actually fucking talked." He sets Yev down and rushes to Ian, pulling him into a hug.  
"Mickey." Ian says softly.  
Mickey pulls away, blue eyes filled with tears, searching Ian's face.  
"God I'm so fucking proud of you."  
"Mickey." Ian says again.  
A laugh bubbles out of Mickey's throat and he presses his lips to Ian's for the first time in forever. He eventually pulls away, face wet and it's Ian's turn to laugh,  
"Mickey."

He's not sure if he could even say anything else. He's sure he wouldn't want to.

He's brushing his teeth later that night when Svetlana comes into the bathroom, setting a paper cup with his pills and a cup of water with a straw.  
"Proud of you orange boy."

Ian smiles into the mirror, even as his hands shake.

It's getting cold again but Ian has flowers growing in his stomach and liquid gold in his veins. His cheeks are as pink as the early morning sky and he swears to god his freckles are glitter imprinted into his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Ian mentions killing himself, Ian is very depressed but takes his medication, but talks about falling apart. It is mentioned that uses drugs, alcohol and cigarettes to numb his pain. Ian regresses to child like behaviors. Proceed with caution little angels!


End file.
